


My Secret, My Hell, My Burden

by ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could possibly be a higher form of madness than falling in love with someone who does not share your feelings? Well, for starters, if that person happens to be your best friend, then that certainly qualifies.</p><p>Albus Potter has fallen prey to this quandary, and through a self-exploratory journey, he learns much about what it’s like to love and what it’s like to lose himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Secret, My Hell, My Burden

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to thank the divine Amortentia X/Emma of MNFF for being my beta for this. She truly is amazing.

Here I am, tossing and turning in bed, battling with myself about the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder whether the way I feel really is natural, or if I’m some sort of deviant. I don’t _feel_ like a deviant, but it does make me unsure about a lot of things.

You see, I, Albus Potter, have fallen in love with my best friend, Scorpius Malfoy. How this happened, I have no idea, but after duly considering the matter over the years, I’ve determined that there is no way to deny the feelings that I get when I’m around him. At first, I wasn’t really sure if the love I felt was platonic or romantic, but after some hard truths—and there are many of them—I’ve realised that it is undoubtedly the latter.

I love the way he talks, and I love it when he talks that way to me. He’s a maddening perfectionist in every way, whether it comes to schoolwork or his personal appearance; everything must be flawless. Dinner with Scorpius is an, um, _interesting_ affair, to say the least; his table manners are almost, I don’t know…girlish. He never slurps, never slops, never talks with his mouth full—you know, like the rest of us do. Nothing about him is typical.

He’s always been there for me, ever since we were eleven, and I can’t think of one person outside of my family that’s ever done that for me. He understands a lot of things that other people don’t, such as what it’s like to have a famous (or in his case, infamous) father, and what pressures come with that distinction, which is what I think attracted me to him in the first place.

The first time he brushed my hand by accident, I got this odd flip in my belly, as if something inside of me was trying to let me know that I liked it; I _did_ like it. Initially, it was odd, and maybe even a little scary, but now…now that I understand what I feel a little bit better, I think it was— _is_ —wonderful, no matter what.

From the very first day I met him, I knew that he would be someone significant in my life, but until recently—or maybe it wasn’t so recently—I had not truly known just how significant he would be. Every time I reflect on the milestones in our relationship, I see something that, in retrospect, is a perfectly obvious indicator of my spiral into the insanity that is falling for my best mate, and it becomes easier to find where it had all gone so horribly wrong.

 

**1 September 2017**

I was only half listening as Uncle Ron told Rose not to get too friendly with the Malfoy boy, Scorpius. I was too busy wondering what sort of grievous wrong would occur if I was Sorted into Slytherin like James told me I would. Only bad people went into Slytherin, or at least that’s what I was told, and I didn’t want to be one of them. I wanted to be a Gryffindor, just like Dad, just like Mum, just like _all_ of the Potters and the Weasleys, but James just kept winding me up, telling me I’d be the first Potter, say, _ever_ , to be in that house. I just wanted so badly to prove him wrong.

It was with those thoughts, heavy for an eleven-year-old, that I boarded the Hogwarts Express. I was far too angry with James for taking the mickey out of me to sit with him, so I sought familiar faces—not that I would have too far to look. I had nine cousins on the train from which to choose for company, but they were all crammed into one car, so there was no room for me. Or maybe there was, but I didn’t bother to ask…I never did.

So, I sought the nearest unoccupied carriage, which happened to be vacant, save for one person—Scorpius Malfoy. I wasn’t sure if I would be allowed to sit in there with him, whether by his choice or by my family’s, but the train was moving, I was rapidly becoming sick from the motion, and I really needed to sit down.

That was it, then. I opened the door to the car, and, ignoring the stares from others passing by, sat down right across from this boy with perfect looks and a haughty demeanour. We stared at one another for quite some time, but eventually, either curiosity or boredom won out, causing him to break the silence.

“You’re Potter’s boy, aren’t you?” It was more like a statement than a question, but I wasn’t entirely sure of the significance of the distinction.

“Yes,” I said to him, more timidly than I would have liked. Here this boy was, questioning my heritage, and I was being a complete prat. I had to be a _little_ more Gryffindor if I wanted to make sure that the Hat didn’t make a mistake.

At my response, he harrumphed, and I didn’t find this nearly as annoying as I thought I should have. Maybe Uncle Ron was right; maybe Scorpius was a bad egg and was best avoided. Something in the back of my mind told me to pursue this interaction a little further, though, as if there was some sort of supernatural intervention to bring the two of us closer together.

So, I decided to ask the first question on my mind. “Why does that matter?”

He looked almost startled at my inquiry, and I found no small measure of joy over that. I had finally jostled a human reaction out of this boy, instead of the stolid exterior that he put up, and I found that I wanted to learn a little bit more about what he was like when one chipped away at that mask of his.

I pushed the matter further. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Why should I?”

I could tell he was beginning to get defensive, which was not my intention, but I really wanted him to be honest with me. So, I replied, “Because you have no reason not to.”

That seemed to cut him to the quick, and I felt the beginnings of self-satisfaction. If this boy really wanted to know who my dad was, then I wanted to know _why_ he wanted to know. I crossed my arms and stared at him intently, letting my green eyes drill into his grey ones until he blinked and looked away. This small victory gave me the courage to forge ahead with my tentative quest to know this fellow.

“So, Scorpius, did your dad tell you the same thing that my Uncle Ron did? To not get too friendly with us Potters and Weasleys?”

Still looking out the window, he said flatly, “Yes.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. So, we weren’t so very different, after all. I wondered if his dad had told him about the Sorting Hat and how it would let one choose between Houses. Feeling a bit of bravado after my small victory in the conversation, I asked him. When he arched his silver-blond brow at my question, I knew that was the start of something. It would take years for me to figure it exactly what it was, but even as a child, I just… _knew_.

Imagine my surprise later that night when I really _was_ Sorted into Slytherin, but at that point, since I had already made a friend in that House, it didn’t bother me. Come to think of it, I sort of wondered whether that was the reason I was put into Slytherin, because of this odd sort of camaraderie I had developed with Scorpius. It also could have been more along the lines of what Dad had said to me, which was that I could choose which House I wanted. Thinking back, though, without even realising it, I _had_ chosen; I chose Scorpius.

When we reached the dungeons and the common room, I started to feel just how out of my element I really was. Nearly everyone stared at me, which I later came to learn was because I was Harry Potter’s son, not that it had meant anything to me at the time. The only person that didn’t treat me like a leper or an invader was Scorpius, but I wasn’t sure whether that was because he still didn’t know what to make of me or that he had forged some sort of grudging respect for me. I doubted the latter, but I was still as of yet friendless, so I chose to ignore the reasons why he was all right with me and tried to do the same.

Since I was the odd one out, my bed ended up in the far corner of the room, but Scorpius immediately put his things in the one next to mine, which made me feel more accepted than I had all day. He had even gone so far as to give me a weak smile when I bestowed him with a grin of my own. I had a feeling that this was about as emotional as he was ever going to get; for the most part, I ended up being right about that.

In the next couple of days, we started sharing more and more about one another, and it soon became a reality for me that I knew this boy, this unexpected ally, more than I had ever known anyone before. Before too long, he had even screwed up the courage to write home and tell his father who his new best friend was, though I had done that almost immediately.

Mr. Malfoy was, er, concerned with his son’s choice in company, but he did not forbid it outright, so I guess that was his way of showing acceptance. My dad had just congratulated me on starting school and asked how I was liking everything, but that might have been some sort of cover for his confusion. I had always meant to ask him about that.

Anyway, suffice it to say that the two of us were nearly inseparable after a while, as one could often find us taking meals together, studying in the library together, or just hanging out in the common room together. We were outcasts together—him because of his family and me because of mine—but none of that mattered, because we always had each other. I think that was when it all started.

 

**24 May 2023**

It was our fifth-year, and it was finally our turn to attend Prom. After my dad had attended a similar event when he was at Hogwarts, the Yule Ball, Professor McGonagall had decided to make it a regular event, once every four years and available for fourth-years and up. That way, everyone got the chance to attend at least once whilst in school. Neither Scorpius nor I were asked to attend our first year, naturally, so we both knew that this year would be our only chance.

Finding dates was a, er, challenge, if you will. None of the Slytherin girls liked me, and Scorpius didn’t like any of the Slytherin girls. Taking a Gryffindor girl was out of the question for both of us, as most of them were related to me or were mates with my cousins, and Scorpius simply did not want to be seen with any of them. I guess I could understand that, considering the stringent Slytherin lineage he carried.

After much suffering, failure, and cowardice on both our parts, we each decided to go by ourselves and simply arrive together. It was not as if we were going together as a _couple_ or anything—just friends.

It was here that I learnt my dislike of massive social gatherings. I felt like I was trapped in my dress robes, which were either too small or were meant to be that damned uncomfortable, but Scorpius…he looked incredible. On anyone else, that shade of emerald would have made that person look pasty; on him, though, it was perfect. Simply perfect.

We both did a few token dances—me with Jenny Marten and Hannah Smith, and Scorpius with Persephone Bulstrode (who looked like an ugly cow next to him), Laura Perkins (who made moony eyes at him the whole time), and Elene Ratliff (who was too short and looked ridiculous dancing with him). For the most part, though, we spend the night watching the revelry, listening to the music, which was surprisingly good, and drinking our respective weights in butterbeer. It was a good night, and both of us had fun, despite the lack of accompaniment. I would even go so far as to say that we were happier with one another than if there had been any girls with us.

Now, normally, butterbeer is innocuous, but when consumed in the mass quantities that we had, the minute alcohol traces begin to build up. This was the case with us. Scorpius was used to drinking wine and champagne at family gatherings and such, but as I was completely untested in that area, it hit me just as we attempted to navigate the steps leading down in the dungeons.

I stumbled on nearly every step, but each time I was close to smearing my face on the flagstones, Scorpius was there to catch me. He was none too steady on his feet, either, but much more than I was. Somehow—I’m not exactly sure how—we managed to make it back to the common room unscathed, or at least _he_ did.

That night, while I was dreaming, I experienced my first physical reaction to him. At the time, I just attributed it to some combination of a little too much to drink and latent memories of Jenny getting overly handsy whilst we had been dancing earlier. That _must_ have been it, right? What fifteen-year-old boy _didn’t_ get a little excited when a girl as attractive as Jenny Marten tried to put her hands in inappropriate places? With that in mind, I just tried to keep telling myself that it was an odd reaction to my first bout of overconsumption. _Yes,_ I thought. _That had to be it._

Well, over the next few days, the dreams didn’t stop, each successive one more stirring—for the lack of a better term—than the last. Was this just some typical sort of teenage sexual confusion? I’d heard that it was normal to be curious about alternative lifestyles, but I had to be honest with myself. I had never felt anything even remotely close to that about any of my other male friends or acquaintances, so did that mean that I was gay, or did I just spend too much time with the same person.

Intent on resolving this ‘problem,’ I pushed the issue to the back of my mind as forcefully as I could; the last thing I wanted to do was alienate my best mate by acting so bloody awkward around him. Having him with me for those five years had been a crucial part of my life, and I wasn’t about to ruin that—not if I could help it.

 

**27 June 2025—Accreditation Day**

Finally, it was here. All of our parents were coming for Accreditation Day—the last day at Hogwarts for seventh-years. We would receive our certificates of completion, as well as our N.E.W.T. scores. It was, in essence, the first day of the rest of our lives for all of us, and most of us were sure that there was nothing we couldn’t do. Most of us.

By that point, I had finally come to grips with the fact that I was sexually attracted to Scorpius, but the one thing that I was sure I could never do was actually tell him so. How does one even _start_ that conversation? ‘Hey, Scorpius, guess what? I’m gay, and I fancy you.’ Just the mere thought of it made me want to laugh and vomit all at once.

When his name was called, I watched him stride with that easy, loping grace of his that I had come to appreciate. I’d come to appreciate a lot more than that about him at this juncture—the way he brushed his sleeve when he was bored with a conversation, the way his hair was still straight and perfect in the morning, his fanatical organisation of his toiletries in the loo, and even the way he fluffed his napkin onto his lap before eating.

Every step he took reminded me of all these things, but more so, it hammered home the realisation that it was all nearly over for us. Sure, we would see one another after school, but would we ever have that camaraderie that we’d had at Hogwarts again? I had already resigned myself to the fact that we had wildly different career aspirations, as I wanted a career as a law advocate, and he wanted to be a journalist, which would, obviously, steer us from each other during our respective training periods.

So, where would we go from there? How often would I get to see him? I can’t even begin to count the ways that losing his constant presence in my life would hurt me, but in my own true, ridiculous fashion, I ignored these feelings, just like I had the rest of them. I mean, things would work out like they always did.

Merlin, I was wrong. After we all received the token congratulations from our parents and peers, most of us filtered into our regular little cliques. By cliques, I mean that Scorpius and I wandered off to be far, far away from the cloying presence of our families. As usual, we ended up sitting underneath this one fortuitously placed tree, which afforded a spectacular view of the vistas beyond the grounds, as well as some much needed shade from the heat of the late June sun.

I was sweating in my dress robes, but I knew it had nothing to do with the temperature. My proximity to him was, in a word, dangerous, especially considering the conclusion that I’d reached regarding just how I felt about him.

Yes, I had finally stopped trying to fool myself; I was in love with him. Even through all of my doubts and self-recriminations, against everything that I had ever thought a traditional relationship was supposed to be, against what was supposed to be ‘normal,’ I loved him still. But that didn’t mean that I would ever even think about telling him, even thought I trusted him with every other secret of mine.

There were times—just like under the tree that day—when I would let my mind wander to these ever-present musings about us. I’ll admit freely that, in my imaginings, the two of us were more than friends. As one could probably guess, these thoughts followed me around non-stop, though I feared that Scorpius had begun to notice. Apparently, I got this far away look in my eyes, which he had, on more than one occasion, attributed to fantasising about some girl or another that he thought I’d fancied. Just how the hell was I supposed to tell him the truth, when he clearly didn’t have anything remotely resembling homosexuality on his mind? I wasn’t going to tell him _anything_ , plain and simple.

All of this, in combination with the looming reality that things would never be the same again, really got to me at that moment. As I stared off into the distant mountains, hugging my knees for moral support, a single tear slipped down my cheek. I wanted to be somewhere—anywhere—else right then so I could finish what that lonely drop had started, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Besides, who was I really hiding from but me? I couldn’t escape myself, no matter how hard I tried.

I thought I was having a heart attack when I felt his hand on my face, tracing the moist trail with his thumb. Every last millimetre he touched was aflame, and I could feel myself reacting in other ways as his hand cupped my cheek and turned my face to his.

“Al, what’s wrong?” he asked me.

How was I supposed to answer that? I knew I had to say _something_ , and I couldn’t lie to him, since I was rubbish at it, and he could always tell. “Everything’s going to change now.” It was the truth, and it _was_ bothering me, so it wasn’t a lie, per se.

Scorpius must have taken the bait, because his reply was geared more toward us not seeing one another as much than my own personal quandary. “Mate, it’s not like we’re moving to opposite ends of the world. Besides,” he added as he removed his hand from my cheek, seemingly embarrassed from the prolonged contact, “that’s what owls and Floos are for, right?”

I sighed. “You know it won’t be the same. We’ll write a few times a week at first, and then it’ll go down to once a week. After that, maybe once a month or so with an occasional meeting.” I turned away, not able to meet his gaze, for I was sure that he knew that what I said was true. “I’ve spent more time with you over the past seven years than I have with my family. How is this _not_ supposed to bother me?”

He had the nerve to laugh at me— _laugh!_ “Oh, Al, you’re just being melodramatic. I was about to say something before you got all teary on me.”

Curious, I looked over at him again, and his face was lit in that way that told me that he was about to share something huge. “I was about to ask you if you’d be interesting in splitting a flat in London come autumn.”

My mouth sort of hung there for a while. I knew I looked stupid, but I also didn’t care. He had literally made a dream come true for me, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run around and celebrate or if I wanted to kiss him. Well, that was a lie, because I knew which one I _really_ wanted, but at the moment, either would have done fine. It was some time before I realised that I had not actually answered him. “That would be great.” Now, ‘great’ wasn’t exactly the adjective I had in mind, but it would do.

Scorpius grinned in that way that was uniquely his, and I was sure I couldn’t have stood if I had wanted to. The atmosphere between us was just so bloody perfect, I didn’t want it to end, but in true form, I did something idiotic that _made_ it end. Without thinking, I covered his hand with mine. As soon as I recognised my gaffe, I could’ve let myself slip into the lake with the Squid, such was my embarrassment. _Stupid, Albus. Really stupid._

His smile wavered as he slowly withdrew his hand from mine. If I had ever, at any point, doubted whether he was even slightly as attracted to me as I was to him, this erased that doubt, because he, obviously, was not. I’d just taken a great moment and trod upon it in the worst way, which had made both of us uncomfortable. I didn’t bother to apologise or try to explain myself; instead, I just buried my face in my knees and didn’t look at him at all as he got up to leave.

Did life really have to be so cruel? At that very second, had lightning struck me down, I would have welcomed it, so much did I loathe myself. It couldn’t possibly have been as horrifying as the thought that I had just acted borderline insane to my best mate, probably to the point that he’d probably not want to see me again. _Damn, where is that lightning?_ I silently pleaded with the sky to swallow me, to take me away from all of this.

Instead of trying to fix things between Scorpius and me, I sat on that patch of grass and cried. I don’t know how long I was there, but the next person to find me was Dad. I wouldn’t say he was the _last_ person I wanted to see, but in terms of people who could help me, I considered him pretty low on that list.

Dad sat on the grass next to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was worried about me. That made me feel like rubbish, because all I seemed to be able to do at that point was upset people that I cared about. He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side, as he used to do when I was little and James had just done something rotten to me. He held me there like that for what seemed like forever, not saying anything, for which I was grateful; I didn’t want to say anything, and I think he knew that.

Eventually, I looked up into Dad’s eyes, identical to my own, and I could see how much it pained him to see me this upset. I knew then that, no matter how much I didn’t want to, I had to tell him the truth. I needed to tell _someone_ , and of all the people in my life, he would judge me the least.

My resolve was shaky at best, so I decided to just jump right in before I gave myself a chance to talk myself out of it. “Dad?” I could hear the plea in my own voice.

“Yes, son?”

I felt myself clam up, but I couldn’t allow that to happen—not now—so I just came out and said it. “Dad, I’m gay.”

His breathing stopped, and I thought he was going to have some sort of fit. Only his sharp exhalation signalled that he had, indeed, heard me, but his lack of response made me afraid that I had bestowed my trust a little too easily. That made his next response a complete shocker.

“I was wondering when this was coming.” My head jerked to look at him as if he was mad. Had I heard him right? How the hell could he have possibly known? It meant that, if Dad knew, then he was probably not the only one, and that prospect made me feel queasy.

Dad smiled at me, though. “Don’t worry, Al. There’s nothing wrong with it, and we’re not mad at you or disappointed. We just want you to be happy.”

We? “Mum knows, too?” What sort of hell _was_ this, anyway?

He nodded. “And James, too. Actually, he’s the one who told _us_.”

That wasn’t what I had expected. “You mean _James_ , the biggest git I know, could actually figure that out when I barely knew it myself.” I scoffed. “Please.”

“Your brother cares about you, Al. You should give him more credit than that.” Dad mussed my hair. “Besides, we’ve all been a little worried about you.”

“Why?” I asked. As far as I knew, there had been nothing untoward about my behaviour; then again, I really did think that I’d kept my secret, but that hadn’t worked out at all.

Dad looked at me like he was surprised that I didn’t already know, which made me feel sort of ashamed that I didn’t. When he realised that I had no idea what he was talking about, he said, “You barely talk to anyone. When you’re at home, you spend your time in your room, skip meals, and if any of us try to get you to go anywhere, you always refuse? None of it made any sense until James told us that he suspected that you were…

The fact that he didn’t finish his sentence irked me a little. “You can say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word or an affliction.” I wasn’t sure at the time whether the last part was for his benefit or mine, because I didn’t know myself, really.

“I know, and I never said it was,” he added quickly. “It’s just that…I have no problem with it, but no parent really expects their child to be gay. It’s always someone else.” Dad sighed and lay back on the grass. “Damn, I’m not doing well at all, am I?” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Here you are, pouring your heart out, and I’m rambling on like a complete prat. I’m sorry, Al.”

I felt bad for him, then. He really was trying to say and do all the right things, and I knew he was being honest, which wasn’t easy. It was about time for me to hold up my end of the conversation. “Dad, it’s okay. I know what you’re trying to say, and it feels really good to be able to talk to someone about this. I can’t tell Scorpius, because…”

My unfinished thought told Dad all he needed to know. “Because he’s the one you’re in love with.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, just…supportive. I couldn’t even find the words to convey how much it really meant to have my family behind me, right when I was sure that I was all alone.

Changing the subject, he asked me, “Why don’t we go back to the Great Hall. I hear the elves have put out a most spectacular spread this year, even better than last year’s. Besides,” he stood and offered his hand to help me off the ground, as well, “we can’t let James eat all the treacle tart.”

Both of us laughed as we started back toward the castle, but before we got to the doors, Dad stopped and fished around in his pockets and produced a key. He handed it to me and said, “Oh, and I almost forgot. Scorpius asked me to give this to you. He was worried about you, so he said that maybe I should come to talk to you.”

His words left me both disarmed and elated. I hadn’t alienated Scorpius, just worried him a bit. Maybe Dad was right—this could all work out okay, after all.

 

**31 July 2028**

Life with Scorpius had been, over the past few years, both divine and agonising. The Tree Incident, as I had taken to calling it, seemed to not faze him, which I found miraculous. We interacted like we usually did with no awkwardness or discomfort for anyone but me. His magnetism still held me captive, just as it had since we were fifteen, and each night, I feared that I would never be able to sleep peacefully again.

Our respective careers kept us at arm’s length, for the most part. He had been hired by the _Daily Prophet_ as a proof-reader, which he said would lead to an eventual editor’s job or maybe even to a column of his own, which was simply brilliant, because he truly had a quicksilver quill.

I, on the other hand, was a junior advocate’s assistant, which basically meant that I was the office dogsbody. My job was to do loads of research through piles of dusty law books (which sometimes yawned back at me), write memos for nearly everything, and fetch the tea. Yes, I was the inter-office tea-fetcher. I was told that it would eventually lead to better things, but I had my doubts, let me tell you.

It was Dad’s birthday, and I knew that I was required to make an appearance, but truthfully, what I really wanted was to stay curled up in bed and never come out. The previous night had been one of the more difficult ones. I hadn’t slept more than two hours at the most, and those precious minutes of sleep were burned with what had become increasingly erotic dreams. Year by year, I had been dreading the days when my physical needs would override my ability to stifle them, and I feared that the time had finally come that I couldn’t do it anymore.

Though I could think of a million things I would have rather done, especially on a national holiday (yes, the Thirty-first of July was Harry Potter Day—can you _believe_ that rubbish?) when I didn’t have to work, I dragged myself out of bed nonetheless. The part that I dreaded the most was the persistence of James’s girlfriend, who had tried on countless occasions to set me up with one of her friends, because, to his credit, James didn’t tell her about my, er, sexual preference.

If I didn’t worry like hell that Scorpius would find out, I wouldn’t even care so much, but I know that if he learnt of it, he would start stringing together clues and that would be the end of everything for me. The thought of one’s entire life revolving around one person was daunting, at best, but losing that person…I’m not sure I could live through that. I mean, I would physically survive, but I think when one loses the person that means the most to them, it would be akin to sleepwalking through life. I would be there, but not really _there._

So there I was, blindly stumbling through my morning routine. It was a bloody miracle that I didn’t maim myself shaving, and I counted my blessings for the charmed razor. I just stared at my hair for a while before giving up the futile quest of getting it to lay straight, instead favouring a quick head shake. I debated whether to use my Muggle contact lenses, but considering my general nonchalance toward my appearance, I decided against it—too much hassle.

When I was dressed in the only clean clothes I could find, which was an old pair of jeans and a Puddlemere United shirt, I wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee. I had taken to drinking a lot of it in lieu of tea, mostly due to my poor sleep. It fuelled my body where my mind didn’t want to take it, and while I do know that it’s damnably bad for my health, I’m not too inclined to care at this point.

As I entered the kitchen, though, not only the scent of coffee met my nostrils, but also, the smell of bacon, eggs and toast graced the air. Though I wasn’t remotely hungry, I couldn’t help but be enthralled by the idea that someone besides my mum ever cooked for me.

Scorpius looked up from the stove and frowned. “You look like shite, mate. Are you sure you want to leave the house looking like that?”

“Good morning to you, too,” I answered whilst pouring my coffee. We ‘discussed’ this issue at least once a week, usually on my days off when we went places and he didn’t think I put enough effort into my deportment. Not all of us can be perfect looking, though, so why should I even try?

He just rolled his eyes and made me a plate. “Never mind. We’ll take care of that _after_ breakfast. I don’t want to lose my appetite.”

We both laughed at that. I knew that he didn’t _actually_ mind how I looked, but he always wondered why I didn’t care about what others thought of me. But I really only cared about what _he_ thought of me, though it had nothing to do with looks, so I let him do whatever he wanted with my appearance. That’s why I owned those bloody awful contact lenses—they made him happy. I preferred to think that it wasn’t superficiality so much as how he was raised. Astoria Malfoy was a formidable woman who brooked no argument when it came to getting her way, and no son of hers would ever be seen in any other way but his personal best. Personally, I always thought he was his most attractive when he just got out of bed, before he decided to straighten every visible seam, smooth every imagined wrinkle or pleat. Bloody unnatural, his penchant for tidiness.

So we ate breakfast, which consisted, as usual, of him talking about anything and everything under the sun that was on his mind and me listening. Typically, he would never say this much to anyone, not even his parents, but things were different for us; we were like brothers by then, only closer and more in tune with one another than James and I had ever been. I hesitated to think that it was like we were married, because in general, marriage between two men was taboo, frowned upon, and all-around not allowed. I never understood why that was, considering the fact that Muggles had no problem with it at all.

These thoughts sort of drowned out Scorpius’s harangue about whatever it was that he was talking about. I was more focused on how much I really didn’t want to visit my parents. It’s not that I didn’t love and appreciate them, but both of us having a day off without expectations was a rarity, so spending this precious gift dodging Fanged Frisbees or whatever insane new thing Uncle George brought was not my ideal way to pass that time.

Finally, I was subjected to my customary cosmetic assault. Scorpius put some sort of pomade in my hair, which smelt of sandalwood; I should probably have told him that I hate sandalwood, but I really just loved his fingers in my hair, so I would probably have agreed to anything. Next, he made me put in those bloody evil contact lenses, which took nearly a half an hour of poking myself in the eye. Then came the circling. He would make me stand in the middle of the room, and he would walk circles around me, scratching his chin and squinting in concentration. What could have possibly held his attention for so long was beyond me, so I just stood there, feeling like an object waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.

At last, whatever he’d been thinking had come to some fruition in his mind, and he dragged me to my room and came back five minutes later with a pile of clothing— _his_ clothing. I’m not sure what was going on in his brain, but he brought me a lavender button-up shirt and a pair of brown trousers. On him, those items would look spectacular, but on me, I’d look re-bloody-diculous. I looked at him, hoping that my eyes were begging him to reconsider as much as I wanted them to, but he flashed me a similar look, to which I could not possibly say no.

It was odd when I pulled my shirt over my head, because he didn’t leave like he normally did. I felt extremely embarrassed and self-conscious about my body as it was, but for the person I loved to stand there and watch me undress, it was incredibly personal, even intimate. I didn’t want him to leave, exactly, but I really did wish that he would look at me with some other emotion but curiosity.

I finished changing as quickly as I could without falling over, and I looked myself over in the mirror. That odd-looking bloke staring back at me couldn’t possibly be my own face; my hair was tamed through the miracle of product, my eyes looked more intense without the distortion of glass lenses, and though I loathed the colours, the clothes cut quite the figure. Did he have to be so _right_ all the time?

There was still one thing that made me wonder. “I’ve never seen _you_ wear bloody purple. How is it that you have all these things I’ve never seen you put on once?”

He scoffed. “First off, it’s lavender.” His tone changed to the insecure version of himself that only I got to see. “Second, I bought these for _you_.”

“For me? Why?” Why would he buy clothes and not actually give them to me except when he thought I looked abominable?

At least he had the decency to look sheepish. “I bought them for your birthday, but you made some offhand reference to not liking purple, so instead of taking them back and exchanging them like a normal person, I held onto them in hopes of changing your mind.” He straightened my collar, and every molecule of my skin that came in contact with his hand buzzed. “It looks great on you, by the way.”

I wanted badly to touch him back, but I couldn’t let myself do that; but I was, however, not quick enough to still my heavy breathing. He looked at me and quirked his brow, obviously not comfortable, but he continued inspecting the fabric until he was sure that he had bent it to his will.

 When he finished, he smiled at me, and I was gone. I didn’t dare move, because I was reasonably certain that if I did, I would either fall over or kiss him with all the force that my rampaging twenty-one year old hormones could muster. How could he not know what he did to me? How the hell could he live with me for that long and not understand the things he made me feel? I may have loved him, but I still hated him for that spot of ignorance on his part.

I managed to stumble to my bed and bury my face in my hands. How much longer could I do this, put up this mask? At every turn, he would do something that nearly shattered my resolve, but I was at the end of my rope. This madness could not continue; I had to tell him.

He sat down next to me, obviously concerned. When he saw the tears that had sprung to my eyes, he bit his lip and out came the least relevant thing he could’ve possibly said. “Al, if the contacts bother you that much, just take them out.”

I just stared at him and his utter lack of comprehension. “You really don’t know, do you? You have no bloody clue.”

This time, it was his turn to gawk at me. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m completely lost here.”

Frustrated, I flung myself to my feet and paced the room, Scorpius still trying to figure out why I’d turned into a complete nutter. This was it. It was time to lay it all out on the table, no holds barred, nothing held back. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen it. All these years…” I stared at the ceiling, allowing a sarcastic laugh to escape. “How could you not know how madly I’m in love with you?”

He froze. I didn’t know what was going through his mind or whether I _wanted_ to know. This could’ve turn out one of three ways: he would either think I was joking, run for the hills, or profess his own undying affection. I really didn’t delude myself into thinking that the happier alternative was going to happen, but I really prayed that this wasn’t the end of our ten-year relationship.

With his reaction, one could imagine my surprise as to what happened next. He didn’t flee the room, didn’t laugh, didn’t say anything; instead, he pushed me back on my bed and kissed me—hard. I felt like my whole soul was aflame, and every agonising moment, every tortured minute, every waking hour, was worth this raw, powerful emotion. Of course this was love, for how could anything surpass this?

When he broke off the kiss, my head was spinning. It was as if a dream had just become reality for me, and the dull imaginings of my brain could not hold a candle to what had just occurred. But as I met his eyes, I could feel that euphoria deflating in my chest, because it was obvious that something was amiss, and whatever it was had to be horrible.

“Say something, please,” I practically begged him. This awful silence made me want to retch. When his breathing did not even out, I was pretty sure that I understood what that meant. “You obviously don’t feel the same, do you?”

He shook his head and said, “No.”

I don’t think I expected him to say anything different, but to hear it was hell for me, anyway. I wanted to strike that fateful syllable from my mind, just like it had struck me down. There was no delusion on my part that he loved me back, but before, there had been that small glimmer of hope that the impossible could happen. I just wanted to yell and scream, to throw an epic tantrum, but I was an adult and above such acts of immaturity.

He didn’t leave, which threw me. If he was repulsed by our kiss, then why did he do it in the first place, and why was he still here? I wanted answers before he walked out on me. “Why?”

Fortunately, Scorpius knew what I was asking. “Because I care about you more than just about everybody I know. I owed it to you to make sure I didn’t feel the same.”  He got up and put his hands on my quivering shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Al. I really don’t know what else to say.”

That was when I completely lost it. What had previously been a few stray tears became racking sobs as my legs betrayed me. He caught me before I fell to the floor and held me close to him as I cried like a child into his shirt. How had I come to have a friend such as him? I had just crossed a gigantic line, yet when I needed him, he was still there, though I couldn’t help but wonder how long this would last. Things would never be the same after this, and the change would not be for the better.

As he guided me to bed and tucked me in, he forced a weak smile and said, “I’ll owl your father and tell him you’re not feeling well.” With that, he walked out of the door, and a fresh torrent of angst and wretchedness crashed over me. I was lost, I was exposed, and I was alone.

 

*** * ***

 

So there it is. My secret, my hell, my burden. I love Scorpius Malfoy, and while he does care about me as a friend, he most certainly doesn’t love me in return. Thinking about everything has sucked every bit of will I have in me to do anything but lay here—aching, wanting, longing, wondering.


End file.
